So I sit in one of the many long chairs of a San Clarita luxury resort, red, oiled, like a newly born seal, sipping from a tall glass of pale spirits, divining, redoing, and unsettling the long rows of people filing in and out of the pool- which sits like a fat dog on its belly- by squinting my eyes and tilting my head to and fro, and I am noticed by everyone, and I come to bask in their attentions, noticed, spotlighted by a grand and medieval sun. I am comfortable, single, successful in an artful and humble way, and everybody, everybody finally wants me. I tilt my head to the left and right to view the spaces of my dominion. All at once the angle becomes wrong, and I am feared, despised, a witless despot parading around in false clothes; my mastery has fled; all is revolting; I am once again myself